


Beautillion

by Iamacat



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5525714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamacat/pseuds/Iamacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again, Moldova is struck by the strangeness of the image; Luxembourg used to tower over him like a superior adult but now the difference is only a couple of centimeters, barely noticeable except when they stand close together. “There’s nothing wrong with having a few special suits on hand. If you get invited to a party and dress well, you’ll make a good impression that can go a long way.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautillion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trawl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Trawl).



> This is a giftfic for Trawl, who requested Luxembourg and Older!Moldova. Merry Christmas~

“Let’s try the orange.” Luxembourg offers him a new shirt.

Moldova stares at the reflections in the mirrors. The hims stare back with identical expressions of curious wonder from three different angles. It’s funny; these reflections are him but they don’t feel like him, don’t even look like a him he recognizes, even in orange. He tugs self-consciously at the cuffs of the sleeves as Luxembourg picks up a dark wool jacket and brushes invisible dust of it with a smooth, graceful gesture with the back of his hand. He holds it out and slides it over Moldova’s thin arms so it rests heavy on his shoulders. Luxembourg steps back and in the mirror Moldova sees him smiling in approval. It makes his heart skip, and he’s tugging at the sleeves again. They feel too short and expose his hands.

“I think warmer colors better suit you, Mol. What do you think? This or the green?”

“I don’t know. I’m used to making my own clothes. Everything looks weird so far,” he says honestly. Luxembourg chuckles. It’s easier for him to go shopping. He’s naturally refined and has an elegant manner that goes with wearing nice clothes. 

“You hardly recognize yourself. That’s not always a bad thing.” He places his hands on Moldova’s shoulders and leans forward, leaning forward so their cheeks were almost touching. Again, Moldova is struck by the strangeness of the image; Luxembourg used to tower over him like a superior adult but now the difference is only a couple of centimeters, barely noticeable except when they stand close together. “There’s nothing wrong with having a few special suits on hand. If you get invited to a party and dress well, you’ll make a good impression that can go a long way.” 

Moldova huffs and crosses his arms. “Dummy. Why do I have to impress anyone when everyone already knows me?” 

“Maybe you want to show them you’re not a little kid anymore,” he helpfully points out. Moldova pouts at that because it’s a little too on-the-nose. It hasn’t been present at the forefront of his mind but lately he has gotten the sense that maybe the other countries still kind of treat him like he’s still small. They baby him, especially Big Brother Romania who’d much rather Moldova live with him, and slowly the feeling of claustrophobia from their well-meaning gestures becomes bone-crushingly mountainous. He is a Nation in his own right, he reminds himself for the thousandth time. 

“But I’m  not  a little kid anymore. I’m a very hard worker!” 

“You’ve always been an assiduous Nation,” Luxembourg agrees. “Shouldn’t hard work be rewarded?”

They still haven’t agreed which color looks better, but Moldova begins to shed the strange garments anyway. As soon as he’s back is his normal clothes, things start to feel natural again, even if his patched coat stands out a bit in a store where the usual customer is a bit more refined. People’s stares don’t bother him that much. It’s the note of admiration in Luxembourg’s voice while praising his work ethic that causes Moldova’s face to warm the way it does now.

Taking the shirts, Luxembourg turns to the sales assistant that was helping them. “We’ll take both of them. And these pants, and this jacket, and-” He lists off a half dozen more items Moldova didn’t even know were missing from his wardrobe. He watches as Luxembourg produces a blue card from a shiny leather wallet and hands it to the assistant with the confidence of someone who has done this many times. “I just thought, do you have shoes to go with these?” he asks, turning to Moldova again.

The truth is, Moldova is wearing only one of the three pairs of shoes he has: a stained pair of boots with stringy laces. The other two pairs- sandals and some sneakers that don’t quite fit anymore- aren’t any more suitable. “No.”

The items are rung up. He pointedly ignores the total, knowing it will be higher than he’s comfortable acknowledging. Luxembourg makes no indication that it’s a problem. “We can find you a pair after this,” he says. 

Moldova gaped. “Really? Wait, no, I can’t let you do that, Lux!”

“Nonsense.” He pats Moldova on the shoulder. “I’m happy to do this.” It’s true, Moldova realizes, Luxembourg is being completely sincere, but that only adds to the sudden burst of embarrassment rising in him like a burp. 

“But all of these expensive clothes-” Moldova shakes his head earnestly. “They’re too much.”

“Then think of them as a… birthday present.”

“My birthday was months ago.”

“Christmas?”

“Is over a month away.” 

“Then think of this as just a gift, from one good friend to another.” 

“I don’t think it’s nice to accept such large gifts,” Moldova admits in a low voice. He drops his eyes.

The confession leaves Luxembourg silent, lips forming a small, shock “o”, or maybe he’s saying “oh” as he begins to understand Moldova’s discomfort. He places his hands on Moldova’s arms. “It’s okay to get a big present once in a while, isn’t it?  I want to buy something nice for you, Mol, for no reason at all. ” he says in an equally low voice. 

While Moldova contemplates the implication, Luxembourg signs the receipt while the sales assistant carefully folds and rolls everything in paper. A second later Moldova is carrying three bags full of the nicest clothes he’s ever owned, and he’s both embarrassed and proud to be carrying them while walking out the store side-by-side with Luxembourg.


End file.
